


Jagged

by eluna



Series: Shame 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Consent Issues, Curtain Fic, Denial, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Hand & Finger Kink, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Orgasmic Dysfunction, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Episode: s01e15 The Benders, Post-Episode: s01e17 Hell House, Post-Episode: s01e18 Something Wicked, Pre-Episode: s01e19 Provenance, Rimming, Safeword Use, Season/Series 01, Sexual Dysfunction, Shower Sex, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluna/pseuds/eluna
Summary: “Hey,” Dean says scratchily, and Sam looks up a bit to meet his eyes. “It’s not… I liked it. Okay? I liked it. That’s just—beside the point.”“Well, for me, the whole point is to be in it equally. I don’t want you to… to do those things if it’s not going to be balanced.”Dean can’t change the fact that he wouldn’t have touched Sam that way at all if it were for himself and not for Sammy, but if it gives Sam peace of mind to think otherwise—well. “This doesn’t make me your boyfriend,” he grumbles, but Sam just says—“So, you saying you want to do it again?”





	Jagged

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel that no one asked for, three years later.
> 
> What you need to know: Sam has an orgasm disorder. Dean offered to help.

There was this douchebag once, back in ’02, a few months after Dad bailed to start hunting alone. Even Chad’s name was douchey. Nothing would’ve ever even happened if Dean hadn’t (been alone too long and) struck out with four different women in the town watering hole at the end of a case, itching for any way to fuck out the tension that ganking the spirit should have resolved but _hadn’t_. Dean was sloppy-drunk by the time Chad the bartender cut him off, and Dean still doesn’t know why, when Chad offered to call him a cab, he leered at the guy and told him he’d better take Dean home himself, better not risk some jackass cabbie taking advantage of him in his vulnerable state.

Chad shook his head but smiled as he punched in the number for a local taxi service. It took five more days for Dean to make his way back to Chad’s sensible two-bedroom loft, get his dick inside Chad’s mouth while some scratchy jazz singer’s voice wailed at them from one of Chad’s vinyl records.

It’s not like Dean was even attracted to him or had any kind of remotely legitimate reason to hang around town with the hunt wrapped up, but—a mouth is a mouth no matter what’s in the pants of the person attached to it, and he just couldn’t _stop_ thinking about Chad’s, once the idea was in his mind. Cassie with her psych degree always insisted that Dean’s got obsessive thoughts or whatever, and in retrospect, that’s probably all it was. He’d been pretty fucked up for a while after Sam and then Dad left, used to fixate on stupid shit all the time, and Chad—Dean got stuck on it and it _niggled_ at his mind, more so when he couldn’t let it go, _why_ was he wrapped up in this when he wasn’t even gay, and—yeah, the blowjob was good, but reciprocating it wasn’t, and he blew out of town as fast as he could ditch the apartment when Dean woke in a sweat at four o’clock that morning with Chad’s dumbass silk sheets twisted up around their bodies.

Anyway, it’s stupid that Dean’s even thinking about Chad when it’s not like the experience had anything in common with sex with Sammy, besides, well, the basic anatomy. It’s just—Dean fixates sometimes on things he doesn’t understand, doesn’t even exactly want, like Chad and, now, like—

The point’s moot, of course, because Dean _just_ got his brother back and doesn’t want to fuck that up, especially not because he can’t stop obsessing over something he didn’t even enjoy. That’s not to say it was bad: honestly, it was kind of fun to tease Sam all over and see what made him tick, made _Dean_ feel tight and warm to latch onto a good spot and see Sam’s surprised little hitch of breath, his body flush and contracting beneath—

Dean’s gut seizes up as he spurts all over the mildewed tiles of the shower, and he wrings out the last few drops, cursing, before he lets go and slumps against the back of the stall.  _Get a grip_ , he tells himself firmly. It wasn’t like that, it _can’t be_ like that, and anyway, if Sam had wanted it to ever happen again, he’d have said something.

* * *

When Sam says something about a week later, they’re ducking to avoid a squad car on the side of the road. It’s a long walk back from the Benders and that _cage_ they put Sammy in to get to the block near the police station where the Impala is parked. Dean drags him down by his lapels to crouch behind a clump of bushes that’s just this side of too short, and then Sam’s whole body shudders where their sides are pressed up together, shaky breath whooshing in Dean’s ear, and when Dean turns his head a fraction to look, Sam’s eyes and mouth are blown stupid-wide.

“ _What_?” Dean says, cocking an eyebrow.

“Nothing! Nothing. I… I knew you were going to find me.”

“Of course I found you,” Dean says dumbly.

“I know. It’s stupid. I just couldn’t help thinking, if you _didn’t_ , and I never got the chance to… things have just been so weird the last few weeks with us.”

“Weird? Nothing’s weird.”

“No, I know what you’re doing, and it isn’t gonna work on me. We _have_ to talk about this.”

“ _Really_ , Sam? Instead of—oh, I don’t know— _evading police capture_ , you wanna sit here behind this bush and talk about your feelings?”  
  
For a moment, they just sort of—breathe at each other, Sam looking terribly earnest. A light breeze plays at the hairs that aren’t sweat-stuck to his neck or ears, and Dean reaches out to flick a stray bramble from Sam’s bangs. “Cop car’s long gone,” Sam points out with—is that a smirk?

“Right,” says Dean, clearing his throat.

Sam tears after him when Dean hastens to stand and starts striding briskly back toward civilization. “Come on,” he’s saying, “why won’t you just say if—”

“What do you want me to say? That I liked it? That it was _fun_ for me? I already told you it wasn’t like that.”

It takes Dean a few seconds to realize that Sam should have caught up to him by now, and he pivots to find Sammy frozen in pace a ways behind him, freakin’ _pouting_. “You didn’t… not at all?” he says, too quietly, so that Dean can hardly make out the words.

“Why can’t you ever leave anything alone, huh? Why won’t you let me do this one thing for you and let it just be nice without messin’ it up?”

“I’m not _messing it up_ just because I wanna know I’m not crazy for enjoying it!”

Sensing a Big Speech about to come on, Dean meanders back toward where Sam’s standing with his arms folded and his face all blotchy, and he licks at his suddenly dry lips. “You enjoyed it?”

“I— _yeah_ ,” Sammy whines, his throat catching, “but if you didn’t—there’s gotta be something really wrong with me, right? We’re brothers, Dean, that’s…”

“Hey,” Dean says scratchily, and Sam looks up a bit to meet his eyes. “It’s not… I liked it. Okay? I liked it. That’s just—beside the point.”

“Well, for _me_ , the whole point is to be in it equally. I don’t want you to… to do those things if it’s not going to be balanced.”

Dean can’t change the fact that he wouldn’t have touched Sam that way at all if it were for himself and not for Sammy, but if it gives Sam peace of mind to think otherwise—well. “This doesn’t make me your boyfriend,” he grumbles, but Sam just says—

“So, you saying you want to do it again?”

God, yes, Dean wants to do it again. Just thinking about doing it again has him halfway to erect the whole walk back to the car, and it’s barely receded by the time they’ve booked it all the way out of Hibbing, past Duluth, and into Wisconsin. It’s not really that late by the time he rolls into the Sleepeasy Motel parking lot, but Sam’s already dozing off against the window with drool gleaming against the side of his face, and anyway, for once, driving isn’t doing much to unwind Dean’s nervous energy. He practically jumps out of his skin in response when Sam stirs into consciousness; his fingers thrum against the laminate countertop while the clerk takes her sweet time charging his card for a room.

Dean orders a one-king room, and Sam _stares_ but doesn’t interrupt to protest. When they get to the room, Dean strips methodically out of his shirts and then laughs at the look on Sammy’s face, impressively _not_ belying his own shaky self-confidence. “We’re both disgusting from chasing those freaks around. C’mon, get in the shower.”

Sam’s jaw hangs open for a moment, and then he closes it and unzips the fly of his jeans, following Dean into the bathroom. Dean turns on the water supply and holds his hand under the stream until it runs warm enough to step in, kicking off his jeans and boxers in the process. Sam follows him in, and then Dean is ripping open the plastic wrapper around the soap and running the bar gently across the skin of Sam’s shoulders and neck.

Sam groans, and Dean smiles gently at the wood Sam’s popping. “Just relax,” he murmurs, sweeping the bar of soap down Sam’s arms, along his pecs and nipples, down to his stomach, around back to his buttocks; he lathers up well, Sammy leaning heavily on him and panting against his neck, and then drops the soap and rubs his middle finger against Sam’s—

“This okay?”

“Yeah. Yes. Yes.”

Dean presses in slowly, carefully watching Sammy’s face. Sam winces a little, but says, “It’s—it’s not bad. It hurts, but it’s—” He breaks off with a gasp, furrowing his eyebrows and grinding down onto Dean’s hand. “That’s—oh, god, what is that?”

“I think that’s your prostate, Sammy,” says Dean, chuckling.

“Do that again, right now,” Sam demands.

Instead, Dean pulls his finger out and reaches for the soap again, sliding it slowly down one of Sammy’s legs, then the other. “Asshole,” says Sam without heat. His legs are shaking, threatening to collapse.

Dean is slow to soap Sam up, lather his hair with two-in-one shampoo, and rinse him clean. Don’t get him wrong, it’s utterly weird to be so purposefully naked with Sam, but this is Dean’s baby brother he’s talking about, and he would do anything to take care of him, including, apparently, this. Giving himself a perfunctory scrub, Dean shuts off the water and drags his fingers up Sammy’s cheeks and into his sopping-wet hair, leaning forward to catch Sam in a lazy kiss. “Bed,” he says, and Sam nods frantically.

They barely pause to towel themselves dry before Sammy is on him again, slipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth and stroking it slowly over Dean’s. Eyes shut, Dean walks backward out of the bathroom and, finding the bed, allows his knees to buckle and himself to fall back onto the mattress. He ghosts a hand over Sam’s erection ( _so weird_ ) and then pulls his mouth free. “Let me try something,” he says, and he rolls Sam carefully onto his front. Resting on his knees on either side of Sam’s thighs, he bends forward and seals his lips sloppily around Sam’s anus.

“What? Oh! _Oh_ —”

“Just stop me if you don’t like it,” says Dean, grinning, before resuming.

“Oh, I like it. I like it. I— _god_ —”

The taste is horrific, but the texture of taut, wrinkled skin around his tongue is kind of nice, and the noises Sammy keeps making are _really_ nice. Dean smiles a little into Sam’s ass when he feels Sammy starting to hump the mattress underneath them. He knows it’s coming, but it still makes Dean feel sad for Sam when Sam abruptly falls still and says, his voice muffled in a pillow, “Okay, I’m done. I’m good.”

Dean hauls himself up and wraps Sam in a wet hug. “Sure thing, Sammy,” he says softly.

“Can I help you with that?” Sam asks, running a finger down the length of Dean’s erection. His voice sounds tight, like he’s upset, and Dean doesn’t know why he’s offering when he probably _is_ upset.

“I…” Dean wants to say no, and then he remembers what Sam said about not wanting to let Dean do this for him if it isn’t an equal exchange. “Ask me again later,” he allows finally. “Right now, I just wanna hold you.”

“Works for me,” mumbles Sam, fidgeting until his head is tucked under Dean’s chin and his arms are draped over Dean’s chest. Within minutes, he’s breathing heavy, snorting breaths that indicate sleep.

Dean dazedly strokes Sam’s back and scratches his scalp while his mind replays Sam’s words over and over, like he wants to memorize them for posterity, like he _needs_ them—

_I wanna know I’m not crazy for enjoying it!_

_Oh, I like it. I like it. I—_ god _—_

_You saying you want to do it again?_

It’s a long, long time before he sleeps.

* * *

“Did you—last night, are you—was that—?”

“If you’re trying to ask me if I had a nice time, yes, Dean, I had a nice time.”

Sam smirks and takes a swig of the girly Starbucks coffee he got this morning while Dean was still sleeping. He’d been alarmed at first to wake up to an empty motel room, but it didn’t take a minute to find Sam’s note on the desk, and in the fifteen minutes it took Sam to return, Dean was able to hop in the shower, change, and compose himself. Mostly.

“Okay,” he says now, his mouth dry. “Good. I was thinkin’—I was thinkin’ we could just try new things for a while? If it helps you get over your—your problem, then great, and if it doesn’t, then you’ll still have learned more about what you like and maybe found some things that feel good. Right?”

For a moment, Sammy just _stares_ at him, and he flushes and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, we don’t _have_ to. We don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do. If you don’t want to keep doing this—”

“I want to keep doing this,” says Sam quickly, meeting Dean’s eyes dead on, and Dean flushes darker. “But only in between jobs, okay? I’m going to get us both killed if I have sex on my brain while we’re hunting.”

Repressing a smile, Dean allows himself a precious second to imagine Sam being distracted by memories of sex with Dean ( _the way Dean was all last night_ ), and then he shoves the image down to pull back out only when he’s alone. “Yeah, okay, no problem.”

Sam puts down his latte, walks to where Dean’s sitting up in the bed, and hugs him tightly. “Thank you,” he says. “Really. I don’t know what I did to deserve the best big brother.”

“Some would argue that I’m the worst big brother for pulling you into this,” Dean says before he can hold it in.

“Don’t say that about yourself,” says Sammy. “No one has ever been so kind to me about this.”

Dean shrugs one shoulder and squeezes Sam’s waist tighter, listening to his heartbeat, hoping Dean doesn’t fuck this all up with his own desires.

They do everything Dean can think to try for Sammy’s benefit, mostly soft-core stuff so as not to scare Sam off. They have sex in front of bathroom mirrors, Dean’s clenched fist slamming into Sam’s ass while Sam watches their reflection with wide eyes. Dean wraps Sammy in a blindfold and leaves open-mouthed kisses all over his naked skin, from his lips and neck all the way down to his ankles. They buy a vibrator, slather it in lube, and ramp it up to high pressed against Sam’s prostate until Sam practically begs Dean to take it out.

Dean’s most _and_ least favorite part is always afterward, when he’s got Sam tucked into his side and they’re both willfully waiting for their boners to go down. It’s uncomfortable, and a little awkward, and he feels bad for Sam for never being able to get off, but it feels so good to be pressed up against his brother that the rest almost doesn’t matter.

They’re in bed after the Tulpa case in Richardson when Sam gently swats at Dean’s head with his free hand and tells him, “Okay, yeah, you can probably stop now.”

Dean looks at him and smirks from around where he’s got his mouth on three of Sam’s fingers. He pushes his tongue into the space between two of them and decidedly does not stop jacking Sam’s dick with his right hand.

“I said stop, Dean.”

He pulls his mouth free and says, “No. You know the rules.”

Sam flinches and squirms around on the bed, digging his fingers into Dean’s hair. He lets Dean keep working for a minute, biting hard on his lower lip, and then says again in a broken voice, “Please stop.”

Hating himself, Dean doesn’t stop. “No.”

“It _hurts_.”

“You can take it. You’re doing so good, Sammy.”

“I don’t care. Make it _stop_ , make it stop—”

Dean twists himself over Sam’s figure and presses a kiss to his lips. Sam seems to focus his attention there for a few moments, but then something seems to snap behind his eyes and he wrenches free and says, “Red red red red red red—”

Dean peels his hand away immediately and buries it in Sammy’s hair, kissing his cheeks, behind his ears, everywhere he can reach. “That was okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that was okay. Too bad it didn’t work.”

“Yeah, but the point of this isn’t orgasms, remember? The point is for you to feel good.”

“I know,” Sam sighs, and Dean wishes he knew how to stop Sam from feeling disappointed in himself. “Thanks for making me pick a safe word. I don’t know how I would have communicated the difference without one.”

“No problem. Traffic light system for the win.” Dean kisses Sam on the lips again. “So we’re not doing that one again, then.”

After a pause, Sam says, “I never said I didn’t want to do it again.”

“Well, I’m saying _I_ can’t.”

“Oh.” Another kiss. “Fine with me.”

The next morning, they’re planning on buying a sounding rod to experiment with that night when they get a text from Dad with coordinates to Fitchburg, Wisconsin. The hunt for the shtriga—the same shtriga that almost got Sammy when they were kids—is brutal, and after they skip town, Dean gets them a motel room with two beds, not one. Sam frowns when he comes in the room with their duffels, setting them both on the ground and walking right up into Dean’s personal space in the bathroom.

“Get out of here. I want to take a shower.”

“Great. I’ll join you.”

“No.” Dean flinches when Sam tries to lay a hand on his arm.

“Dean, that shtriga coming after me when we were kids—that wasn’t your fault. What would you even have done to get rid of it if you’d been there? Dad was wrong to treat you like—”

“I don’t need to listen to this. Just get out, Sam.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean.”

Sam bends in to kiss him; Dean ducks his head and mutters, “Red, okay? _Red_. Leave.”

“ _No_ ,” says Sam, and he wraps Dean into a tight hug. Dean tries to fight him off, but Sam’s strong enough to hang on through all Dean’s attempted punches, through Dean’s knees buckling, through Dean collapsing into a babyish sobbing mess all over him. Sam doesn’t seem to know what to do besides hold on and kiss him, and Dean kisses back like he’s starving, like Sam is the only thing that can sustain him.

They end up in the bed furthest from the door, clothes strewn around the room, Dean’s face wet and buried in Sam’s neck. Sammy spreads lube inside himself with two fingers and inches himself down onto Dean, moving slowly at first and then faster. Dean thinks about walking into that motel room as a kid to find the creature hunched over his precious Sammy, about how fucking empty his life would be right now if he didn’t have Sammy in it, and—

They’ve never had actual anal sex before, because that would involve Dean receiving pleasure from Sammy, and the whole point of this is _Sammy’s_ pleasure. Dean starts to shake his head and pull Sam off of himself, but Sam stubbornly sits all the way down and rocks a little, saying, “You’ve avoided this long enough, Dean. _Why_ won’t you let me touch you?”

“Because— _ah_ —this isn’t _for_ me! This is for _you_. My whole life, Sammy…”

Sam twists until he apparently finds a good angle, because he starts rocking faster. “Why can’t you get that I don’t _want_ you to do for me if I can’t do for you back?”

“Because… because I don’t deserve to feel good. If _this_ is what feels good to me, I don’t deserve it.”

“Bullshit,” says Sammy, and then he bends down and kisses Dean.

Dean holds out an embarrassingly short length of time after that before spilling inside Sam. It’s altogether pretty anticlimactic, after the number of times he’s jacked off in the shower or in bed to thoughts of being with Sam. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to live down crying through sex, but he shoves that thought out of his mind and allows himself until Sammy falls asleep to hold him, to be near him, before getting up and into the other bed.

The next night, he sleeps with a girl named Brandy while Sam puts together a case in New Paltz, New York. The day after, he throws Sam at a woman named Sarah Blake.

Sam and Dean don’t sleep together again for a long, long time.


End file.
